


Call of the Wild

by brinnanza



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Animal Transformation, First Kiss, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damn it, Sheppard’s tired of <i>wanting</i>. His best friend is a god damn wolf, and that’s not even the strangest thing that will happen <i>this week</i>. Their whole fucking lives are weird; is it really so strange that he should fall for McKay, that McKay might even feel the same way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the myth (found on Tumblr [here](http://brinnanza.tumblr.com/post/104868529441/stefkaryan-peoplemask-larissafae)) that says if someone who truly loved and trusted a werewolf spoke its name, it would turn human again. Thanks so much to Clotpoleofthelord and Voyageboots for the beta!

Sheppard’s in the middle of a great dream where he’s flying a Puddle Jumper through Beggar’s Canyon with Sarah Jane Smith when the chirp of his radio on the bedside table startles him awake. He rubs a hand over his eyes to wake himself up and slaps the radio in his ear. 

“Sheppard,” he answers around a yawn. He wills the lights on and glances around for some pants--he’s rarely woken up in the middle of the night for something that doesn’t require his immediate attention and presence.

Sure enough, Lorne says, “Sir? I think you’d better come down to the science labs.”

There’s a note of worry in Lorne’s voice, but it doesn’t sound like “the ZPM is currently exploding” levels of panic. “What is it, Major?”

There’s a pause, and then Lorne says, “Well, there’s some sort of--uh--creature in the main lab.”

“ _Creature_ ,” Sheppard repeats. “Could you be more specific?” 

“Well, sir…” There’s another pause. “It looks like a wolf. It seems pretty docile--it’s not attacking anyone or anything, but it’s knocking things over and making kind of a mess.”

Sheppard is pretty sure a mostly-docile wolf-like thing could have been stunned and taken to the brig by Lorne himself, who could have then filed the appropriate reports and informed Shepard in the morning. Delegation, as they say, is the mark of a good leader. “Major,” Sheppard begins.

“There’s more,” Lorne interrupts. “It’s McKay.” 

Sheppard’s head snaps up at that, and he pushes away a rush of nervous adrenaline as he shoves his feet into boots. “Is he okay?” he demands.

“That’s just it, sir. The creature’s sort of tangled in one of the science team shirts--what’s left of it, anyway, and we haven’t been able to raise Dr. McKay on the radio. There’s no blood or anything, but…” He takes a breath. “Colonel, either that thing ate McKay or that thing _is_ McKay.”

Six years and many missions ago, Sheppard would probably have assumed the worst and believed the former. But after all his time in the Pegasus galaxy and all the strange things he’s seen and done, he’s leaning heavily toward the latter. (Partially, he’s willing to admit to himself, due to an inability to consider that they’ve lost McKay to a god damn animal attack of all things.) Honestly though, animal transformation wouldn’t even make the top ten list of weirdest shit he’s seen.

He sighs. “Just keep it in sight,” he tells Lorne. “I’ll be right there.”

 

He arrives at the labs and finds, well, exactly what Lorne said he’d find, which is somehow not at all what he’d been expecting. There’s a large furry lupine creature poking its snout at an open laptop. It’s growling quietly, but mostly, it seems, at the computer. Surrounding the creature is a circle of uneasy marines and Lorne, who has his P90 in hand, but it’s aimed at the floor near the creature’s feet.

Sheppard gives the whole situation a wary glance. “Any thoughts, Major?”

Lorne keeps one eye on the creature and replies, “Well, we tried a Wraith stunner, but that didn’t seem to do anything. And if it _is_ McKay, we don’t know what effect multiple successive stun shots would have.”

“No,” says Sheppard, “that’s the right call. Let’s--” He’s interrupted by a sudden crash as the laptop the creature was nosing at falls off of the table. It starts growling in earnest, loud and menacing, and the marines all take a half step back.

Sheppard resists the urge to roll his eyes. There’s something to be said for caution (and they do appear to be fairly new marines), but even an angry, rabid wolf (which this isn’t) would be less dangerous than a Wraith, or even some of the large predators on the mainland.

Instead, he steps forward and approaches the creature, his hands outstretched peaceably. “Good dog,” he says soothingly. “Good boy--let’s back away from the lab equipment.” Rodney’s already going to be pissed when he sees the state of the lab, whether he’s a wolf or just away from his radio. The computers are replaceable at least--there are a number of delicate Ancient gizmos scattered around the lab that are not.

Sheppard takes a step forward, but the creature snarls at him and snaps its jaws menacingly. Sheppard takes a hasty step backward. “Okay,” he says to Lorne, “I can see the problem.” He taps his radio. “Dr. Keller?”

After a moment, a sleepy voice answers, “Colonel Sheppard? What is it?”

Sheppard takes another cautious step back. “We’ve got a bit of a situation in the main science labs. I’m going to need a gurney and a sedative down here as soon as possible.” Still growling, the creature snaps its jaws again, but it stays where it is. “Might want restraints.”

“I’ll be right there,” says Keller, sounding much more awake now. “What happened?”

“Not sure exactly,” answers Sheppard. “But there’s a wolf in the labs and it should probably not be here.”

There’s a pause, and the shuffling background noise of Keller getting ready stops. “Did you say a _wolf_?”

“Yeah.” Sheppard blows out a breath. At the very least, life in Pegasus is never boring, even when he wants it to be. “Also, I’m pretty sure it’s McKay.”

There’s a much longer pause this time. Then, in voice carefully devoid of emotion, Keller says, “I’m on my way.”

Everyone steps back away from the probably-McKay wolf while they wait for Keller, and after a minute, he appears to calm down a little and the growling stops. His snout swings back and forth, trying to watch everyone at once, his tail tucked low and his fur bristling. The body language is sort of hard to mistake, but all the same, Sheppard’s grateful he had a dog growing up. 

Keller comes in a few minutes later with Marie, who’s pushing a gurney. They both stop and stare at the circus the lab has become.

“Wow,” says Keller, “you weren’t kidding.” 

“Yeah,” says Sheppard noncommittally, wishing that this _was_ an elaborate practical joke.

Keller stares for a moment longer, and then she puts on her professional doctor face and pulls out a syringe and a vial. She fills the syringe, then approaches the creature slowly, one hand out in front of her, the one with the syringe behind her back. “You said this might be Rodney?” she asks.

“Probably,” says Sheppard. “This being Pegasus and all. Stranger things have happened.”

“I suppose I did almost turn into a hive ship.” She creeps a little closer. “Can you distract him?”

McKay’s snout swings around to focus on Keller, a low growl starting up again, and all the marines bring their weapons up to bear. McKay turns his growl on them, and Sheppard shoves at the barrel of the one closest to him and says, “Easy! Fingers off triggers, guys, that’s still McKay.”

The “probably” goes unspoken around the circle, and Sheppard ignores it. Keller darts forward and jabs McKay with the syringe while he’s busy growling at the marines. He turns to her and takes a step forward, and for a moment, Sheppard’s afraid the sedative isn’t working, that they’ll actually have to shoot him. Sheppard’s not sure if McKay is actually in there, consciously, because he’s pretty disagreeable when he’s human, but either way, having to repair bullet wounds would probably make getting back to normal a lot more difficult--and it’s not like they keep a vet on staff. But then McKay’s next step falters, and his eyes go glassy, and he flops down in a furry heap.

Sheppard motions to the marines to load the now-unconscious creature onto the gurney, and Marie straps him down.

“I’m not sure how long that will last,” Keller says, starting for the door. “I guessed about 200 pounds, but who knows what his biology is like. We should get him to the infirmary as soon as possible.” 

“Good idea,” says Sheppard. “Let’s put him in an isolation room. Major, let’s set up a guard rotation just in case.”

“Yes sir,” says Lorne, and he motions to his marines.

They all head down to the infirmary. Sheppard falls into step beside Keller, who’s checking McKay’s vitals. Sheppard’s not sure what good that’ll be since it’s not like his pulse or blood pressure will match his regular human rates, but she seems to know what she’s doing.

Sheppard still occasionally resents Keller for the way they almost lost Rodney when she refused to budge on Ronon’s shrine, but when he’s feeling rational, he has to admit that she usually does have his best interest in mind, even then, and despite her early lack of confidence, she is actually a pretty good doctor.

When they get to the infirmary, Marie and Lorne and the marines transfer McKay to an isolation room, and Keller turns her attention to Sheppard again. “Do you think this is related to the incident in that lab earlier?”

Sheppard and McKay had been exploring of of the far towers, cataloging rooms and looking for interesting tech. After six years, there were still parts of the city and the database they hadn’t yet managed to explore between the sheer size and various time-sucking crises. Most of the tower was empty, former living spaces and abandoned labs, but one room had yielded promise. The wall console hadn’t been wiped, and its display lit up as soon as they entered the room. Unfortunately, McKay hadn’t been able to get much off of it before the whole room lit up with bright white light and started emitting seriously weird radiation.

Keller had cleared them and they hadn’t noticed any side effects, but Rodney’s a wolf, apparently, so obviously the lab had done _something_.

“Probably,” Sheppard says darkly. “I’ll get Zelenka to check it out.”

Keller nods at him, and then she returns to the isolation room, where Sheppard watches from the observation windows. He radios Zelenka to fill him in and hopefully get a science team to pull some answers out of the lab. Keller hooks McKay up to a bunch of monitors and takes some blood samples, and it’s a good thing he’s unconscious because he’s terrible enough about blood draws when he’s human.

When Sheppard finishes talking with Zelenka, he radios Woolsey to fill him in. They schedule a meeting a couple of hours from now, after both Keller and Zelenka have had a chance to run some tests.

Lorne stations a guard outside the isolation bay doors, and then there’s nothing Sheppard can do but stare down at the still form of what might be (probably is) his best friend.

Now that he’s not distracted by issuing orders and getting things done, there’s an aching tightness in his chest that he’s having a little trouble breathing around and can’t push away. They’ll figure this out, he tells himself, then he turns away and goes to wake up Ronon and Teyla.

 

A little bit after dawn, the three of them head down to the conference room for the meeting. Everyone files in and takes their usual seats, leaving McKay’s empty by unspoken agreement. They’re all a little harried and tired-looking with dark circles under their eyes. Zelenka’s hair is reaching new heights of frizz and Keller’s hair is coming out of the bun she’s got tied at the nape of her neck. Woolsey looks prim and put together as always, despite the early hour and lack of sleep.

“Colonel, we’ll start with you,” Woolsey addresses Sheppard. “Report?”

“McKay’s been secured in an isolation room in the infirmary. They’re keeping a watch. Major Lorne says the sedative is wearing off, but he’s calmed down a little and shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s good to hear,” says Woolsey. He turns to Keller. “And do we have confirmation that is it in fact Dr. McKay?”

“Oh, it’s Rodney alright,” confirms Keller. “I compared the DNA to a sample we have on file. It’s got some weird mutations, but it’s his.”

She continues, talking about blood panels and RNA and replications, but Sheppard mostly tunes it out. He’s relieved to hear it confirmed that Rodney hasn’t been eaten, but beyond that, the information doesn’t really mean anything to him.

Eventually Keller finishes up her report, and Woolsey turns to Zelenka. “What information about Dr. McKay’s condition were you able to obtain from the database?”

Zelenka has an odd expression on his face, like he’s trying to stifle a laugh. He glances at Sheppard, who quirks an eyebrow at him. Zelenka composes himself, then says, “We were able to pull a great deal of information from the machine itself. We were unable to locate the reason for the transformation, but there is both good news and bad news.” The corners of his mouth wobble, and he presses his lips firmly together before continuing. “The good news is that Dr. McKay’s condition is completely reversible.”

Everyone in the room visibly relaxes. A lot of the tension goes out of Keller’s shoulders, Ronon sits back in his chair, and the corners of Teyla’s mouth perk up into a pleased smile. Sheppard feels that tight band of anxiety dissipate a little. It’s not the same as seeing McKay all fixed up (or at least having a concrete plan for doing so), but it’s something.

“Great,” Sheppard says, leaning forward in his chair. “So how do we do it?”

Another laugh threatens to derail Zelenka’s expression. “He must be returned to the device, and someone must speak his name.”

“Well, that sounds easy enough,” says Woolsey. It does to Sheppard too, which sets off an alarm bell in the back of his mind. “Colonel Sheppard, have Major Lorne--”

“It is not quite that simple,” Zelenka cuts in. “The person must, and I am quoting the Ancients here, ‘Possess wholehearted trust, genuine affection, and true love for the affected.’”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Sheppard.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” he asks slowly. He catches on a moment later and narrows his eyes at Zelenka. “You’re kidding right? That’s ridiculous. It’s like--”

“It’s Beauty and the Beast!” crows Ronon with a broad, toothy grin, a laugh threatening his composure as well. “You’re Belle!”

“You’ve seen Beauty and the Beast?” Woolsey asks skeptically.

Ronon shrugs. “Amelia showed me a bunch of those--what’re they called, Disney movies?--when we were stuck on Earth. I like them.”

Sheppard shoots a glare at Ronon, who responds with an even broader grin, then says, “You’re sure that’s what it says? All that trust and--” he makes a face “--‘love’ stuff?”

Zelenka lets the smile he’d been suppressing spread across his face. “Yes,” he affirms. “Well, in so much as one can be sure with a language that hasn’t been spoken for ten thousand years. The linguists have assured me that that is the most exact translation.”

“And you think _I’m_ the best person for the job?”

Zelenka shrugs as if to say who else?

“What about you? You’re friends, aren’t you?”

Zelenka gives him a look that manages to be patronizing, long-suffering, and amused all at once. “I barely _like_ McKay, much less love him.” Sheppard doesn’t believe him--their relationship certainly seems contentious from the outside, but Sheppard has heard fondness in Zelenka’s rants about McKay more than once. Maybe it’s not love, but Zelenka does at least care for McKay.

“We could call in Jeannie,” Sheppard tries next, a little desperately. “His sister loves him, right?”

“Yes,” says Zelenka, his expression remaining somewhere along the amused spectrum. Sheppard senses a ‘but’ coming and is rewarded when Zelenka continues, “Which brings me to the bad news. There is something of a time limit. He has about 24 hours before his condition becomes permanent.”

Sheppard groans. “Of course he does.” As if living a horror movie on a regular basis isn’t enough, he’s now apparently living in a children’s movie or something.

“Also,” adds Zelenka just as Sheppard is about to suggest Teyla do it (she definitely loves and trusts McKay and, more importantly, is willing to admit it aloud), “it must be someone with the gene.”

That makes sense given that this is a wacky Ancient technology scenario, but that doesn’t make it any easier to handle. In a last ditch attempt to regain some sort of dignity, he says, “I don’t love McKay.”

He’s met with a wave of skeptical looks. Teyla raises an eyebrow at him in the way that means she thinks he’s being an idiot but won’t tell him, and Zelenka looks perilously close to breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. Keller looks down at her notes, her lips pursed. Woolsey has raised both eyebrows and looks determinedly at the open file on the table in front of him, prepared to stay out of any impending discussion of Sheppard’s feelings.

Which there won’t be, Sheppard decides firmly. “Fine,” he announces irritably. “I’ll give it a try.” It probably won’t work. Maybe McKay will enjoy living as an alien wolf thing. Sheppard can teach him tricks.

Woolsey closes his folder with a note of finality. “Wonderful,” he says. “Have Major Lorne conduct Dr. McKay to the appropriate lab. Dr. Keller, please accompany them in case Dr. McKay needs to be sedated again. I look forward to your reports.” He high-tails it out of the conference room.

Sheppard wishes he could make a run for it too. He always thought the missions where he nearly got married to various members of his team or had to perform some awkward trust ritual were about as embarrassing as it got, but this… If ever a situation called for a laconic “Wraith attacked; we stopped them” Ronon-style report, this is it.

He steadfastly ignores Ronon humming _Tale as Old as Time_ on his way out of the conference room and hurries to catch up with Zelenka. “Are you sure there’s no one else that can do this?” he asks him quietly. “I mean, I like Rodney, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not…” He trails off and gives Zelenka a helpless look.

Zelenka treats him to another skeptical look, heavy with disbelief. “If this is because of your military, I do not believe anyone here would betray the nature of your relationship.”

Sheppard stops short and nearly trips over his own feet. “There is no ‘nature of our relationship’!” he splutters. “We’re friends!”

The long-suffering expression makes a reappearance. “While I understand your reluctance, you can certainly trust your friends.” Zelenka glances around, then leans in conspiratorially and stage-whispers, “Also, you are fooling no one. Is Atlantis’s worst-kept secret.”

There’s a brief moment where Sheppard sincerely believes he’s just had a stroke, but then his brain kicks back into gear. He stares at Zelenka, who just pushes his glasses up on his nose and continues toward the transporter.

Sheppard stands in the hallway for several long moments. He’s had this thing for Rodney for a while now. He’s pretty good at ignoring it so they can still be friends and work together, but he’s not so delusional as to convince himself it’s not there. He had, however, thought he’d been doing a decent job of hiding it from _other people_ , especially Rodney. Instead, he has apparently been publically mooning over McKay for _years_.

He’s startled out of his reverie when Teyla touches his arm and says, “John?” She’s still wearing that patient-slash-concerned face.

Sheppard forces his feet to move into the transporter. Teyla knows well enough by now that getting Sheppard to talk about his feelings is roughly akin to convincing Kavanagh to publically announce that McKay is a genius, and Sheppard is already feeling obstinate, so they walk to the lab in silence.

He’s hesitating just outside the door when she says, “I do not believe there is anything to fear, John. We already know that you care deeply for Rodney. The nature of that concern can remain between the two of you if you desire.”

Sheppard makes a face. She’s right, he knows; it’s not like it’s any big secret that his team is important to him, that he’ll do anything for any one of them. 

This feels… different somehow. Maybe because he usually hides his affections behind his Never Leave a Man Behind doctrine, like he’d risk his life for just anyone. And he guesses he would, up to a point--the entire expedition is sort of his team, and he’ll take a bullet for Lorne or Zelenka or any of them.

But _his_ team, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, these are _his_ people. He never even expected to find friends when he came to Atlantis, never mind people that he cares for so deeply that they teach him what the word family means.

So why is it so difficult to stare down McKay, who is maybe a little hairier than usual, but just as temperamental, and say his damn _name_? He could do it for Teyla, easy, he thinks, even though there are plenty of people that love her. He could even do it for Ronon, maybe. When it was over, Ronon would just clap him on the shoulder, or maybe wrap him up in one of his bear hugs, and then they’d go back to being manly and stoic and showing they care by saving each other’s lives.

It’s different with Rodney though. Yeah, Rodney is team and team is family, but there’s more to it than that. Sheppard thinks maybe it’s because he’s not sure he has a word for what Rodney means to him. He’d die for McKay, sure, but he’ll kill for him too, and that’s a much shorter list.

But it’s just a name. It’s not admitting how he feels about McKay, not really. They won’t have to talk about it, and everything will carry on, exactly the same.

Teyla gives him a small smile and pats his arm. Sheppard tells himself it’ll be fine, and he heads into the lab.

Everyone’s there already. Keller and a medical team are off to one side next to a couple of marines, who are standing at attention. On the platform that’s in front of the console is McKay, awake but placid. They’ve got him trussed up in ropes, crisscrossing around McKay’s chesk and neck. A length of rope extends from a knot over McKay’s shoulder and is wrapped several times around Lorne’s hand. 

Then something in Sheppard snaps, and in a fit of hysteria and desperation, he bursts into giggles.

“A leash!” he crows between gasping breaths. “You think he’ll play _fetch_?” He has to throw a hand out to the wall to hold himself upright, the other wrapped around his stomach. “A leash!” he cries again.

Everyone waits patiently for Sheppard to calm down. Lorne mouths, “Ooo-kay”, and Zelenka rolls his eyes and gives Sheppard a look that plainly says, “I am surrounded by idiots.”

Sheppard’s giggles eventually subside. McKay’s sedative is apparently nearly worn off entirely, because his snout swings around and his big black eyes give Sheppard a blank look that is just like McKay’s regular face. Sheppard’s suddenly worried that McKay is conscious in there, human intelligence in a lupine body, and that Sheppard might have to say something McKay will remember.

But then Teyla is rounding up personnel and kicking them out in that gentle but firm way of hers. Keller protests, “What if something goes wrong?” but Teyla reassures her that they will be well within earshot. Keller looks hesitant but mollified enough that Teyla can take her by the elbow and steer her out the door. Lorne looks similarly hesitant to leave McKay without a guard, but she offers him the same consolation. When everyone has left, she tells Sheppard, “We will be just outside if you require any assistance,” and then the door whooshes shut behind her, and Sheppard’s left with a wolf-like creature that’s got McKay’s brain.

They just look at each other for a moment, both expression wary. It just figures that even as a wolf, McKay has an incredibly expressive face.

But it’s now or never, Sheppard guesses, so he takes a deep breath, pictures McKay’s regular human self in his mind, and says, “Meredith Rodney McKay.”

Nothing happens.

In spite of the suddenly ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, Sheppard feels the tiniest bit of guilty relief. _See_ , he wants to shout, _I’m not in love with McKay_. It’s nothing, they’re just friends, and one of these days, Sheppard will get over this desperate longing thing.

He should give it another shot though--he owes McKay that much. This is just one more instance of them saving each other’s lives, and it’s Sheppard’s turn, he guesses. He joked before about McKay getting stuck this way, but McKay saves everyone’s asses regularly, and they’d all be dead a hundred times over without him. And yeah, Sheppard would be dead a few extra times over, but it’s professional, really, in everyone’s interest. 

And okay, yes, the thought of losing McKay, really losing him, permanently, is something Sheppard keeps locked in a tiny box in the back of his head so it doesn’t keep him up at night but….

McKay just looks at him silently, managing somehow to convey impatience. Then he actually yawns, and Sheppard knows he’s fucked because instead of finding the expression irritating or even just _weird_ (which is absolutely is), he actually finds it sort of endearing, and there are just so many things wrong with that.

Damn it, Sheppard’s tired of _wanting_. His best friend is a god damn wolf, and that’s not even the strangest thing that will happen _this week_. Their whole fucking lives are weird; is it really so strange that he should fall for McKay, that McKay might even feel the same way?

He can’t make any of that come out in words, so he just gives McKay a helpless look and says, “Come on Rodney. For me.”

There’s a flash of white light that blinds Sheppard for a moment, and when he can see again, Rodney is human, naked and tangled in ropes on the dais. He locks eyes with Sheppard for a moment and then crumples, unconscious.

Sheppard rushes forward, calling for Keller and pulls off the ropes. McKay looks okay, mostly--a little pale maybe, but definitely human, definitely Rodney, broad shoulders and thinning hair and all. Sheppard’s flooded with relief, tension rushing out of him so fast it makes him a little dizzy, and for a moment, he considers doing something ridiculous, like kissing Rodney’s forehead.

But then Keller and the other medical staff burst in, and Sheppard steps back to let them take over. They load McKay onto a gurney and hustle him off to the infirmary, taking vitals as they go. Unconsciousness is a pretty typical side-effect of Ancient-Gizmo-Gone-Awry, and all there is to do is wait for McKay to wake up, so Sheppard’s not too worried. 

Anyway, he’ll just be in the way in the infirmary. Keller knows what she’s doing, and Sheppard’s got things to do, or at least some sleep to catch up on. He could definitely use a shower. 

He’s not avoiding McKay and the conversation they’ll probably have to have when he wakes up--it’s just not the most efficient use of his time. He ignores Teyla’s sympathetic glance as he flees the lab.

 

He’s working on requisition forms when there’s tentative knock at his office door. Grateful for the interruption, Sheppard says, “Come in!” and barely restrains himself from throwing his pen across the room in relief.

He looks up to see McKay standing awkwardly in the doorway and gets a definite sense of foreboding. McKay barely remembers to knock at Sheppard’s personal quarters, and whenever Sheppard’s in his office (which is infrequently, but still), he just barges right in, heedless of what Sheppard might be doing or who else might be in there. Sheppard’s not encouraged by the uncomfortable facial expression or the hand wringing, and he almost thinks he’d rather get back to the paperwork.

So he says, “You’re looking a lot less Teen Wolf. Keller let you go?”

“Uh, yeah,” says McKay distractedly. “She said I was fine but to take it easy, just like she always does when weird shit happens.” He hesitates, then plows forward. ignoring Sheppard’s attempt at putting him off whatever awkward thing he’s got planned. “Look, Sheppard, I just wanted to, uh, thank you. For, y’know, fixing me or whatever.”

Sheppard shrugs, feeling wary but mostly succeeding in keeping it off of his face. ”No problem.” For a second, Sheppard thinks maybe that’s it, just some uncharacteristic (and unnecessary) gratitude, and then they can forget all this ever happened and Sheppard can go back to stuffing any unwanted feelings into a box that he can ignore. 

But then McKay says, “I know it can’t have been easy--”

He stops mid-sentence when Sheppard stands up suddenly. He moves around his desk and claps McKay on the shoulder. “It’s what we do, McKay. Don’t worry about it.”

 _It doesn’t have to change anything_ , Sheppard wants to say. Whatever he may have admitted, whatever he may have dared to hope in the moment, he’s had a little time to think about it more rationally, and the truth is, there are a lot of very good reasons for keeping things the way they are. He’s sure McKay likes him well enough, but by all accounts, McKay is _straight_ and therefore probably opposed to embarking on...whatever this would be.

Sheppard can really only think of one reason why anything should change, and “because Sheppard wants it so badly he can’t think straight” is not a good enough reason to torpedo the best friendship he’s ever had, to risk not only his career, but his home. Guys have been kicked out of the service for less, and Sheppard’s already got so many marks against him. And he wouldn’t care--he only joined the service to piss off his father and to try to belong somewhere--but without the Air Force to give him a reason, they won’t let him stay on Atlantis, and Sheppard will give up an awful lot to keep this city, these people. It could be better, sure, one last piece of his life, but he’d probably screw it up anyway, and even without it, things are miles away from _bad_.

McKay makes a face. “I know, but I--”

“It’s nothing, McKay,” Sheppard interrupts. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

Something unreadable passes over McKay’s face, and he presses his lips together in an unhappy slant. But then he says, “Fine. You want to get dinner?”

“Sure,” says Sheppard. They leave the office, sliding into a familiar pattern of bickering, easy and safe.

 

Things go pretty much back to normal after that.They hang out in the evenings, playing chess or watching movies, and they go on missions. They eat lunch together, and Sheppard hangs around the labs, initializing Ancient tech and pushing McKay’s buttons to get him riled up. It’s maybe not exactly what Sheppard wants, but it’s close enough.

He even turns in a report for the whole werewolf thing eventually. It’s several weeks late and so sparse that Woolsey raises a skeptical eyebrow at him when he turns it in, but Sheppard considers the matter finished.

So it catches him by surprise when McKay brings the incident up out of the blue one day.

They’re in Sheppard’s room, playing chess, sitting side-by-side on the bed with the board between them, when McKay says suddenly, “Look, about the whole wolf thing.”

Sheppard freezes mid-move. He sets his knight down, attempts to school his expression into something approaching calm, and says, “It’s over, McKay. Don’t worry about it.”

McKay blows out a frustrated breath. “But I _have_ been worrying about it, and let me tell you, there are a lot more important things that could be taking up that valuable brain space. I don’t really remember any of it, but Zelenka told me what you had to do to change me back. It worked, obviously, so you must--”

The superior officer schtick rarely works on McKay, but Sheppard makes his voice go hard, leaving no room for argument. “Rodney, stop,” he commands.

Unfortunately, it has the opposite of the desired effect, and McKay goes contrary. “No,” he says defiantly. “No, you don’t get to just… sweep it under the rug and go back to being buddies. You--you love me.”

Sheppard briefly considers making a run for it, despite the fact that these are his quarters. Instead he changes tactics. “Like a friend, Rodney,” he says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world, two plus two or introductory physics.

“Bullshit,” says McKay, staring at him, and okay, now Sheppard does start planning a retreat. He can sleep in a Puddle Jumper or in one of the common rooms. McKay is between him and the door, but if he’s quick enough--

McKay rolls his eyes. “Christ. You military types are so repressed. And I thought I was bad at talking about my feelings.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sheppard tries desperately, reaching for any way out of this conversation, anything to keep the status quo. It’s not perfect, but something is better than nothing, anything is better than what they’ll be after McKay attempts to let him down gently.

“You’re an idiot, Sheppard,” McKay says. “Seriously, you’re--did you think it was just you?”

Sheppard looks over at him sharply. “Just me what?”

McKay stares at him blankly for a long moment. Then he says, “Oh for--” He pushes the chessboard out of the way and leans over and kisses Sheppard.

Sheppard doesn’t react, and McKay pulls back, tilting his head and watching Sheppard process. It takes a minute because this can’t possibly be happening, not like this, not like it’s nothing, like it’s so obvious. Not like this _isn’t_ stranger than space vampires and exploding tumors. He looks back up at McKay with wide eyes.

“It’s not just you, okay?” McKay says quietly. He puts a hand on Sheppard’s arm. “It hasn’t been for a while.”

Sheppard tries not to stare. “Why didn’t you…?”

McKay shrugs and lets out a nervous little laugh. “I wasn’t sure before. I mean, you’ve got the whole Captain Kirk thing going on--”

“I don’t--” Sheppard starts to interrupt.

“Yeah, well, close enough. You never said anything. I figured you had your reasons.”

Impulse denial has never been a strong suit of McKay’s, and Sheppard finds it oddly touching. And also irritating. “You could have said something! I thought you were--I mean, Brown and Keller!”

“Chaya! And Teer!” McKay shoots back, a huge goofy grin creeping at the corners of his mouth. 

Sheppard’s been such an idiot, he thinks, and suddenly, it’s hilarious. They both crack up, loud, obnoxious laughter that Sheppard can feel in his gut.

“We could have--” McKay gasps out between guffaws. “For years!”

Sheppard swipes a hand across his eyes after the laughter subsides and looks over at McKay. Their eyes meet, and they reach for each other at the same time. The chessboard gets knocked off of the bed, pieces scattering, but neither of them cares.

When they kiss, there are no fireworks, no lightning flash of brilliant joy, no surge of perfect rightness. It’s quiet, a soft sigh of _finally_ , like returning from a long trip and finding everything is exactly how you left it.

Kissing McKay is like coming home.

 

They’re in the mess hall a few days later, bickering over Doctor Who and stealing each other’s fries, when Zelenka stops by their table.

“Ah, Rodney, I meant to tell you,” he says. “I was able to pull some more information off of the device that transformed you.”

“Oh yeah? Did you find out why it turns people all Canadian Werewolf in Atlantis?” asks McKay. Sheppard steals a fry while he’s distracted. McKay aims a brief glare at him, but Sheppard just grins.

“Unfortunately, no. Why the Ancients do anything remains a mystery. But apparently, the machine has a failsafe. The affected person’s original state can be triggered by familiar objects--personal items, articles of clothing, that sort of thing.” He shrugs. “I thought you might find that interesting. Anyway, I will see you.” He flashes them a wicked grin, eyes bright, and walks away.

Sheppard and McKay stare at each other in silence for a long minute. Then Sheppard says slowly, “Wait a minute. I could have just… thrown your clothes at you?” He pauses. “That would have been a lot easier.”

“Well it’s too late now,” says McKay smugly. “Unless you’ve come up with a way to predict solar flares for accurate Stargate time travel, you can’t retroactively decide not to talk about your feelings.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Sheppard says. He hooks an ankle around McKay’s calf and yanks him forward. McKay catches himself with both hands on the table for balance and scowls.

Sheppard pushes over his pudding cup contritely, and McKay snags it with a superior look. “Good,” he says, digging into it.

Sheppard leans back in his chair, loose-limbed and relaxed. It’s different now, he thinks, all the little touches and subtle changes in body language he’s allowed now, that he’ll let himself, now that this is… something. But some things are exactly the same.

Still, Sheppard thinks as he watches McKay polish off the pudding cup and look around hopefully for another one, he’s pretty sure he never wants to see Beauty and the Beast again.

The End


End file.
